Don't Wound What You Can't Kill
by Alpacca Joe
Summary: What seemed like a lifetime passed before light again flooded the yard and on unspoken accord, both pistoleros pulled their respective triggers.


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Dont Wound What You Cant Kill

**Disclaimer: _Daria_ is the property of Viacom, MTV and some other people who like, have money and whatnot. I own nothing. Do not sue.**

Golden afternoon sun shone gaily down on the Morgendorffer lawn on a quiet, typical late Spring day. The carefully maintained shrubs on the side lawn rustled in the light breeze and a butterfly fluttered past, capping the idyllic scene.

Circumstances in the fenced-in backyard were slightly different.

"You shoulda killed me when you had the chance, Jakey."

Jake Morgendorffer lay on his back on the grass in his best charcoal business suit. A spilled cup of coffee sat in a pool of its former contents, the mug's broken handle caught in the rail of the open sliding glass door. Sweat beaded Jake's brow, his Adam's apple bobbed as he convulsively swallowed and disheveled brown hair fell over his dark eyes, which remained fixed on the figure above him.

Hardly imposing, a fluffy gray squirrel sat panting on Jake's chest. His bushy tail flicked fitfully from side to side, long whiskers twitched and his beady little eyes were glued to Jake's face. On any other day, this situation would be considered humorous, possibly even cute. But on this typical spring afternoon comical took a turn for bizarre and frightening when the squirrel cocked a tiny, rodent-sized revolver and pointed it directly and deliberately between Jake's eyes.

"C'mon, Jimmy," Jake licked his lips and tried to focus on the squirrel rather than his gun. "I took you out and let you go. I thought it was no hard feelings, right?" A nervous chuckle trickled out from between Jake's large, square white teeth which were bared in a vague approximation of a smile. His weak attempt to defuse the situation soon failed; the laughter was choked off as Jimmy pressed the barrel of his gun into the skin of Jake's forehead.

"No hard feelings, huh? Little catch and release and life goes on?" The gun barrel dug into Jake's flesh hard enough to bring tears of pain to his eyes. Jimmy snarled and a drop of blood slid down the bridge of Jake's nose. "Notice you didn't give Phil the same consideration."

Jake winced at the mention of Jimmy's best friend; the knowledge dawned grim that he might not get out of this one.

"The exterminator was Helen's idea! You know how she is, Jimbo, you just can't reason with--"

"BULLSHIT!" Jake's head rocked to the side as Jimmy whipped the gun across his cheek. The barrel left a shallow inch long gash over Jake's cheekbone and the low, coiled stirring of anger in the pit of his stomach. "Tell it to Sheila! _Tell it to the twelve kids that aren't getting fed!_ **TELL IT TO PHIL!**"

Several long seconds passed with Jimmy breathing hard and trembling on Jake's chest as though with exertion. Finally he seemed to center himself and a deathly calm stole over the day.

"We had a deal, Jakey. Now you gotta pay." The troubled squirrel drew a deep breath, shook his head and sighed. "Shoulda killed me when you had the chance." he said again, this time with regret.

Jake's eyes had traveled to a point behind the disturbed rodent and a curious emotion, something almost like triumph, shone in his mahogany eyes.

"Maybe you should've killed _me_ when you had the chance, Jimmy."

Jimmy tightened his paw on the trigger. "That's a mistake I won't make again."

"No. You won't."

Daria Morgendorffer stood in the doorway in ripped jeans and a faded green tee. The bright afternoon sun caught in her glasses, they glowed like twin lamps and rendered her expression unreadable. In her dainty hands she held a shotgun, aimed at the murderous squirrel's back. As the two faced off, a cloud drifted over the sun and threw the world into shadow. What seemed like a lifetime passed before light again flooded the yard and on unspoken accord, both _pistoleros_ pulled their respective triggers.

Blood stained the manicured grass and a body hit the ground. A grandfather clock marked the hour on Glen Oaks Lane.

**End**.

6/4/09


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